reading

Typing With Wet Claws: Care and Feeding Edition

annabowling 2 Comments

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. I would have had this posted earlier, but Anty had to help Mama with a very important errand. They did not have to buy my regular food while my tummy was wonky, but it is better now, and I had eaten through what they had of my regular food, so they had to go to the store.

Well. I know it is time for humans to have fun with scary things, but the regular food store not having my regular food is very scary. I am a creature of habit, which means I like for things to be The Same. One time, the store did not have my scent of Febreze, so my humans brought home a different scent. They said it smelled good, but I did not think that at all. I moved my pee spot, so that they would know my opinion of that new scent. They never bought that new scent again, but I still use the new pee spot, because I am used to that now. We will see what happens with this new food they are trying me on this week. I ate some of it before, when my tummy was getting better, so it is not entirely strange. That is a good thing.

this is a good grocery haul

this is a good grocery haul

An even better thing is that I have eaten through almost all of my dry food treat, and my humans had to buy a new bag. Last winter, the humans could not find my regular size bag of treat, and got me the big bag instead. It weighed more than I did. That was a wonderful day. Today will be a wonderful day, too, because Anty and Uncle will probably give me a little extra treat if that will finish off the old bag. Anty likes the pantry shelves to be tidy, and if she can get rid of the old bag, she will be able to put the new bag there in its place.

kitty's got a brand new bag

kitty’s got a brand new bag

I had not tried any new foods for a very long time, because I was used to my regular ones (and my vet said I should stay away from gravy foods. I will not have any more of those for a while, and that is okay. I have plenty of other things I can eat, that do not have gravy.) I did not want to eat for a few days while I was sick, but then the medicine Mama and Anty gave me did its job and I got hungry. I did not want to go to my bowl, so Anty came down on the floor and offered me different foods until I took some. Then, I ate a lot. Now, I am back to normal. I run toward my bowls when it is time for my meals, with my tail up high, because I know that what is in my bowl is going to taste good and help me be a healthy kitty. I need to be a healthy kitty if I am going to follow my people everywhere and fulfill my duties as being a mews.

It is like that with inspiration, sometimes. Sometimes, a human might lose the taste for something that normally makes them happy. This does not mean that they have sick tummies. Well, not all the time. Sometimes, it might, and in those cases, seeing a people vet is probably the best idea. I am not talking about that right now.

What I am talking about is when a writer human does not find the same pleasure as they usually do in reading their regular books or watching regular TV shows and movies and such. That does not mean that those things are bad, but it may mean that it is time for the writer to try taking in something else for a while. That happened to Anty a few months ago. It was hard for her to get into reading a lot of romance novels, and romance novels are something she really loves. That was very frustrating, for her and for me, because I take my cues from my humans.

Thankfully, the library, which is a big house full of books (Anty says it is a wonderful place) has many different kinds of books and movies, so she had other things to investigate for a while. That was how she discovered there are some very good romances in realistic Young Adult novels, and those books can teach her things she can use in writing historical romance, even though they are not historical (well, most of them are not, at least as far as she can tell.) and the romances do not always end with happily ever after. Anty says her old high school biology teacher would call this sort of thing hybrid vitality. The way I see it, if what you are eating does not taste good, it is a good idea to ask for some different food. I do not think any other humans, even librarians (they are the humans who work in libraries, and know a lot about books; they are very smart) would rub a book in anybody’s face to get them to read some of it, but one never knows.

Anty says it is important for creative humans to take in different things that inspire them, so that they will have more tools with which to work. I think she is probably right, because she is reading a lot more now, both older books and newer ones, and all of that is fueling her writing. She has a new Sleepy Hollow recap up at Heroes and Heartbreakers. It is here and looks like this:

look at how they look at each other

look at how they look at each other

This show has some things that are familiar to Anty: it is set in Sleepy Hollow, a town near where Anty lived when she was a people kitten; she is familiar with the story by Washington Irving that loosely inspired this idea; it has history and romance and some spooky things, too. It also has some things that are different from what she usually likes; the Ichabod in this TV series is very different from the Ichabod in the story, but she does not mind that, because it is entertaining. The history and theology do not always make sense, and there is a lot of hand-waving going on regarding those. Usually, those things bother Anty, but here, she takes it in stride, because she is here for the things that she does like. Anty says inspiration is like a buffet: take what you like, and leave the rest. Come to think of it, that pretty much sums up being a cat, as well.

random me picture because Anty likes it

random me picture because Anty likes it

I have talked for a long time, so Anty says I need to wrap it up. She has to work on her novella now, so that is about it for this week. Until next week, I remain, very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Until next week...

Until next week…

Order of the Golden Curtsy: Call Back the Dream, by Barbara Hazard.

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Write what is wrong if it seems true to you and hang the critics of romance who would have it otherwise.
—Judith Ivory

I have not read a lot of Judith Ivory. I intend to correct that. I’ve read some (and need to re-read that) but this quote jumped out at me, and it is extremely relevant to my interests at present. While it’s been some time since I’ve spent the majority of my writing time scrawling in endless notebooks about how I can’t write, want to write, need to write, but nothing is coming, oh my word, am I all done? Well, no, obviously not, because I would not have a writing blog if I were. I would not be filling out invoices for my work sold to other markets, and I would not be working on current novel, novella and other projects. At the time, though, it felt like it, and that’s a feeling I want to remember. Not relive, but remember, because it has a job to do.

Earlier today, I finished rereading an old favorite historical romance, Call Back the Dream, by Barbara Hazard, which I’ve talked about some before, and likely will do again. This book is one of the special ones, that has stuck with me through decades of reading, held up exactly as I’d hoped it would. It reminds me why I love reading and writing historical romance, and makes me excited to read its companion book, which I have recently discovered somehow got separated from its parent and is in storage. :sulk: No matter, I’ll pick another read from the same bookcase, though I can’t say which right now. What I’m going for is the feel more than anything else, the big, thick bug-squasher historical romance steeped in the spirit of the times (Professor Facos, thank you for introducing me to zeitgeist, probably the greatest gift a professor could give a writer of historical romance.) – the characters think, believe and behave as people of their time, and that drives the plot.

Call Back the Dream by Barbara Hazard

Call Back the Dream
by Barbara Hazard

I. Love. This. Book. So. Hard. It. Hurts. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to know what sort of books I prefer to read, and, ideally, write, and will definitely read it again. During this particular reread, a new thought occurred to me: this book might not have made it to mainstream publication today, and if it did, there would likely be differences. Granted, there are fashions in writing, especially in genre fiction, same as there are in clothes, makeup, hairstyles, etc. It’s also true that publishing does go in cycles, so maybe some of the things that may read as dated now to the very modern reader may be all the rage next year.

Long separations aren’t common in many historical romances published today, but that doesn’t mean it takes away from the romance. Alexander and Camille are separated for fifteen years in this story, by parents who don’t take kindly to mixing classes, and both do marry other people in the interim. Reasons for and outcomes of those marriages make sense in Georgian England, and neither spouse is demonized. I liked that. When Alexander’s first wife dies, there’s pressure to seek another wife, as soon as possible, because he’s not getting any younger, and the title can only be passed down to his direct male descendant. This. Is. A. Problem. Alexander didn’t want to marry anybody but Camille in the first place, but he did his duty, and is willing to do it again. Well, to a point, that is, which I am not going to blab about here, because the scene where he Does A Thing out of strong emotion still makes my skin prickle merely thinking about it. That’s what I want to put into my books, too.

This is not a sexy book. There’s one intimate encounter between Alexander and Camille, and that not spelled out explicitly, but the strength of their love and the bond between them does perfectly fine without going into physical detail. It’s not a inspirational book, though Camille is a vicar’s daughter, her faith affects her choices, and we see her making observances of same. Her first husband is agnostic, and though it’s not gone into depth there, either, their differing views provide for stimulating conversations between the couple. Sex and faith both influence the plot but don’t dominate, though the love Camille and Alexander share, and its obstacles, do. When I read these pages, I ache for these characters and what they need to go through to achieve their HEA. I want to make that.

I love that, when Camille and Alexander do find each other after all those years, it’s not quick or easy. One of them is still married, for one thing, there’s a child involved, and both parties have huge paradigm shifts regarding things they thought they knew beyond any doubt. There’s anger. There’s betrayal. There’s an offer nice people don’t make. There’s consideration of that offer, and consideration of what acceptance of that offer would mean to other people, on an intimate and grander scale. I want to suck this in and soak in it and breathe it and learn from it and make it mine.

There are some books that we read. There are some books from which we learn. There are some books in which we see ourselves, as we are or as we would like to become. Long ago, I had the idea of starting a feature, on my previous blog (or the one before that?) to ramble about my favorite-favorite historical romance novels, but I never did it. No idea why, but no time like the present, and so I induct Call Back the Dream by Barbara Hazard as the official first member of the Order of the Golden Curtsy. Time to show respect to a mistress of the genre.

Typing With Wet Claws: Have to go Through It Edition

annabowling 1 Comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. This has been an interesting week, but then again, they always are. Otherwise, I would have nothing to write about, and that would not make Anty happy. She counts on me to take care of Friday posts for her, which I am happy to do, because I am a very devoted kitty. I do an excellent job of following my humans around the apartment and sitting in the worst (they say worst, but I think they really mean best) places, right in their paths, to show them how much I love them and want to be wherever they are. Also, if they have to go past or over me, that means they will see me and remember it is time to feed me. It is always time to feed me, because I have a special food schedule. I eat little bits throughout the day. My humans tried giving me only breakfast and dinner, but I was not okay with that. I prefer things my way.

That is something Anty and I have in common. Tailoring the way things “should” be done to the way they actually work can be a very good thing. Like with me. Because of my special paws, I do not climb or jump (but do not worry, I am fine. I can walk and run and play -I love to bat crumpled paper around the hardwood floor- like any other kitty.) so using a litterbox is confusing for me. Anty, Uncle and Mama do not ask me to do that. Instead, I have my pee spot and a couple of poop spots (I have to give them some variety, don’t I? Plus, I don’t like to poop when people are watching.) and always let them know when I did something, so they can clean it right away. No predators have found us yet, so I think it is safe to say my plan is working. You are welcome.

Anyway, Anty has found this is very true in reading and writing, as well as my personal habits. By going with her gut in her reading preferences, she has found she is reading more, like she wanted to be, and does not feel all that pressure to keep up with current releases. Not that she is not abreast (that is my vocabulary word for the day) of current publishing trends and news; she likes knowing what is going on in the market, very much. She is checking the mailbox daily for Romantic Times Book Reviews, so she can see what is going on this month. wwRight now, she is reading a mix of realistic Young Adult novels and classic historical romances. She wishes Goodreads had a classifier for rereading, because that would make updating her status a lot easier. It also would be nice if it did not show books she has already read as books she is still reading, because that bothers her.

I have digressed. Anty is working on a post about how she uses sticky notes, part of which will require her to get out her plotting board. That is fun and scary at the same time. Fun, because she will get to play with sticky notes and move things around. Scary, because then people will see what she is doing and they might not like how she is doing it. Maybe they will not like her. I try to tell her that is okay. Uncle and Mama and I will still love her, but she is a writer human, and prone to these insecurities. Maybe she will make a picture with Scapple, because then she can draw lines between the boxes. She cannot do that with her plotting board, but she could, if she had a white board. She used to have a white board (but it was not white; it was a picture of white clouds in a blue sky) but I do not think it made it with us during the move. She will figure it out.

This week, Anty has had another article on XOJane.com, this time about what it was like to take care of her papa, her own anty, and Uncle at the same time. I do not remember any of that, because I was not born yet, so I cannot tell you anything that is not in the article. It is here and looks like this:

xojane

Anty did not think she would like writing personal experience articles -she is a fiction writer, after all- but she does, and plans on writing more of them. It is kind of like blogging, only more people read it, and publisher humans give her money, which she can turn into cat food. Or maybe other things, like notebooks or maybe another computer, but I think she should get the cat food first. It is important. One important thing Anty has learned from writing these articles is to dive deeper into the emotions. Picking what details to share (Uncle says she has left out a lot of the good parts, but Anty reminds him there is a word count she has to respect with these things.) This means reworking some things in the historical, that she has already written, which does not make her happy, even though she knows it will be best for the book and the characters.

Although Anty would really prefer to have the whole book come from her head to the page, perfectly, the first time, she is coming to understand it does not work like that. The process of writing, like the process of caregiving, or cleaning out her papa’s house, is something Anty has to go through, to get to the other side. If that means making a big mess first, then that is what she will have to do. It is okay. I still love her. And cat food. I love cat food.

Speaking of writing, Anty has to do that now, so she will need the computer, which means that is about it for this week. Until next time, I remain,

Very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Until next week...

Until next week…

Back to Old School Season

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Last night, the power went out. Twice. The night was sweltering hot, the rest of the family had sequestered themselves in their rooms, hot and cranky, leaving only me out in the living room. My plan was to watch Ink Master (which I am not sure even recorded, but there’s always On Demand, right?) and write, but BAM, the big dark. The box fan went out. College kids (we live in what’s termed the student ghetto, as our neighborhood hosts multiple institutions of higher learning) whooped and hollered, and one fine citizen decided that was the perfect time to shoot off fireworks. Really? Why do you have fireworks in September, sir or madam? Waiting for exactly this sort of event? Can’t make this stuff up, and, being a writer, that’s kind of my job.

So, anyway, there I am, in the dark, faced with a giant shift in plans for the evening. I don’t have tattoos myself (and can’t, medically, as I have eczema, which does not play nicely with tattoo ink) but I find the art form fascinating, so tattoo shows are must-see television for me. Ink Master is my favorite. This season is masters vs. apprentices, which I think is an interesting concept, especially how each pair handles the competition. For my money, if I were the master and my apprentice surpassed me, I would consider that proof I had done my job well. The student should surpass the teacher, IMO, at some point. That’s how we improve.

Which is where we’re going with this, today. After batting around some email conversations with writer friends, I dragged the window seat cushion onto the floor, filled my travel mug with ice water and settled in beneath the living room window, to hug an ice pack and have a good think. I would have written this out if there had been any light to speak of, but there wasn’t, so I’ll get it down here.

The office overhaul has brought a few different things to mind, notably my reading habits of late. While I do have that lovely TBR shelf above, where my brain and heart keep going is over two shelves, to the recently unearthed classics in their new case. Valerie Sherwood, Laurie McBain, Anita Mills, Barbara Hazard…I have  missed those gals and the stories they told. Not all of them would appeal to the modern reader, but they have stuck with me over the years, and in some cases, decades. The question is, why? What grabs me that strongly, for that long? Good questions, and there’s only one way to find the answers. Study the masters. I’d say mistresses, as, with the exception of Jennifer Wilde (who was Tom E. Huff in his private life) these books were written mostly by women (though Laurie McBain relied on her father’s input, and Valerie Sherwood thanked her husband, Eddie, for his role) I’m reluctant to use the term “mistress” in this context. Whole different profession there.

There hasn’t been a lot of reading time lately, but, once I started my reread of Call Back the Dream, I noticed I was approaching a few things differently. Right before the lights went out, I’d sneak-read a chapter in the bathroom. Haven’t done that in ages, but I used to do that all the time, when I couldn’t wait to dive back into the world of long-ago lovers. There was what we’d call head hopping today (I’m not going to go into putting modern standards of writing onto writers who worked when conventions were different, as that was how things were done then, so shushies) but the details…wow. I felt like I was seated at that table in the vicarage, having dinner with the heroine’s family. Each sibling, both parents and even their lone servant were distinctly painted characters, and no, they do not all get their own book. Sometimes, supporting characters are just supporting characters, and that’s okay.

I’ve read this book before, and will read it again. There’s the delicious sense of anticipation, because I know what Camille is going to find in a certain spot by the stream, but she doesn’t know that, and neither she nor Alexander have any idea what that spot is going to mean to them, or how long it’s going to take before they can claim the HEA that they might have had that much sooner if a few things had been even the slightest bit different.

Different. That’s the word. I love the historical romance genre; that’s what I live and breathe, what I’ve read and written since I was but a wee princess myself. I love that there is something for everyone, and I love that I do have these books from the era of my reading career that fires my blood, in which I see myself and the stories I have to tell. That’s in both senses of the word; one, that I possess them, and two, that I need to release them into the wild. I want the bigger stories. I want the variety of historical settings and eras, and people who think, act, speak, believe and comport themselves as people of their time. Not so much textbook-strict accuracy but versimiilitude. Could it have happened? If so, bring it on. Even so, I’m not writing a textbook, and I’m not writing fictionalized biographies. I’m writing historical romance. The love story has to be as important as the world in which it takes place, and it has to be done in such a way that it could not have happened at any other place or time.

The best way for me to learn how to do this is to see how it’s been done, and them replicate it, in my own voice. Which means I’ll be reading through these keepers, balancing the classic romances with newer editions and learning from both, to make something entirely new. Teacher may be a strict one in this class I’m making for myself, but at least I’ll know attendance will be one hundred percent.

Post Labor Day Rambles and Georgian Unciorn Chow

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Monday’s post on Tuesday does not count as late if Monday was a holiday. Not sure if a holiday counts as such if it’s as disgustingly hot as this one was, but I got to spend Sunday with my good friend, Mary W, and her hubby :waves hi: so that definitely gets holiday points.

In preparation for the visit (and because it had long since fallen into ‘high time’ territory) I hauled a mostly unused bookcase into my office and busted my special keepers out of the storage box where they’d been since the big move and got them out on display.

Shelfie!

Shelfie!

Getting these old favorites out of mothballs and out where they can see them gave me a jolt of energy. This is why I read and write romance. If some of these books look well-read, it’s because they are, studied as much as read for pleasure. Those Valerie Sherwood books? Saved my bum in a pre-Revolutionary history final in college, where I needed to detail the contributions of three ethnic groups other than the English, that were essential to the survival of the colonies on an economic level. First two that came to mind were easy; indigenous and African, one group here already, and the other not here by choice, but both contributed much. Then my mind skidded to a halt. Sure, I’d studied, but could I remember any of that? Nope, what my brain wanted to  hang onto was that scene in Bold Breathless Love, where the heroine escapes her abusive husband by ice boat on the Hudson Riv…waaaaait a minute. Creepy abusive husband dude was Dutch, and so was the ice boat, and ice skating, and those were pretty darned useful, because otherwise, there is zero river commerce during the winter months, and then how are we going to get goods from producer to consumer, hm? Ice, ice, baby. Bonus points for those who know the legal name of the gentleman who popularized that phrase is Robert Van Winkle.

There’s a lot to be said for getting in touch with one’s bookish roots, and it’s a practice I highly recommend. Though I haven’t been reading a lot of current historical romances lately, merely seeing these books on shelves made my reader heart go pitter-pat. I want to reread that one and that one and that one, and ooh, that one. The array of settings and eras here dazzled me then, and it still does. 19th century Russia? English Civil War and Restoration? Georgian England? Colonial America? Yes, yes, yes and yes. This is a shelf full of unicorn chow, and I couldn’t be happier to have it out in the open again.

The book I’m holding in today’s picture is Call Back the Dream, by Barbara Hazard. It’s the first book I ever wrote a fan letter after reading, and I still remember being gobsmacked when Ms. Hazard actually sent back a personal reply. Not light reading, by any stretch of the imagination, and those brave enough to crack that gorgeous Elaine Duillo cover are going to need Kleenex and possibly counseling, because man oh man, the emotions here, and they are directly dependent on the historical world in which Camille and Alexander, the lovers depicted in said illustration live.

No rubbing of elbows with the movers and shakers of the time, but two star crossed lovers from different classes that society has decreed do not mix. Camille is the daughter of a vicar, Alexander the son of an earl, and those readers with some familiarity with the way things worked in the middle of the eighteenth century know this is not going to be an easy road. It’s not, and that’s what makes it a darned good story. Marrying other people? Well, duh. Secrets and lies? Um, yeah. Matters Need to Be Dealt With because those crazy kids and their radical ideas do not jibe with the Way Things Are Done. There’s breeding to consider, in both senses of the world, and the road to happily ever after takes Camille and Alexander fifteen freaking years to traverse. Yeah, baby.

Make no mistake, they make it to their mountaintop, but there are Ramifications, which Ms. Hazard further explores in the sequel, The Heart Remembers, which puts Camille and Alexander’s natural son, Jack, in the spotlight, after he finds out the way his family tree is really rooted, and he does not take it well. I’ll be rereading that one after I reread Call Back the Dream. I did write Ms. Hazard back and ask if there was going to  be a third book, to bring certain events full circle, and, though she allowed I was right about certain things, wasn’t sure if the book would be written. To my knowledge, it has not, and, believe Ms. Hazard is not currently writing, unless it is under a pseudonym. If so, I want to know what it is, because I will read those books.

These books get unicorn chow points because, double-digit years after first reading them, I remember, vividly, specific scenes. Camille’s first appearance, doing laundry on a hot and humid day, the books (Pamela, by Samuel Richardson) Alexander left for Camille to read in secret, The Fire. Those who have read this book know what I mean, and those who haven’t, you’re in for a treat.

That’s the kind of book I want to produce, so that’s the kind of book I need to make sure I’m taking in, as often as possible. Reading these books reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and makes me want to do everything I can to earn my own books a space on that shelf. Ms. Hazard, wherever you are, I’m leaving a light on for you and setting a place at the table.

As the Unicorn Rambles

annabowling 4 Comments

All right, my liebchens, it’s Wednesday, I’ve already done #1lineWed on Twitter, I have a chat with my fabulous critique partner, Vicki, at two, writing must be done, articles pitched, so you’re getting this ramble because that’s how I roll.

Thanks to friend and reader Mary W, I got the idea to talk about some of the books I’ve read, recently or otherwise, that do suit my tastes. Much more fun to enthuse over something I love than whine about trying to find more of it. Here’s the thing about that; some of the time, it finds us, so all that looking can, in those cases, be the same as smashing our heads against a brick wall in hopes of getting through it, when, if we’d kept on walking a few more paces, we could have found the door, garden gate, etc.

This was going to be a video post, but the cold sore that showed up overnight is not terribly photogenic, so you’re getting this instead. All righty, disclaimer aside, let’s jump into this.

i1035 FW1.1

Yeah, yeah, big surprise, but hey, reissue cover, for variety’s sake

Skye O’Malley, by Bertrice Small
(the book, not the kitty)

This is my all time favorite historical romance novel, big, bodacious, sprawling over years and continents, with one kickass heroine who doesn’t let boys boss her around. Doesn’t let Queen Elizabeth I boss her around either, for that matter.  An instance of amnesia actually working in fiction, lots of grit and adventure, from sixteenth century Ireland, England, Algiers and the high seas, to the political machinations of a woman making her way in a man’s world on her own terms, this gets my story blood pumping.

As for romance, Skye has more than one love in this book, and I am okay with that. Niall, her first love, and the hero of the book, is my favorite, and that final scene where the two of them and their friends literally do ride off into the sunset, well, that’s my all time favorite romance novel ending, ever. Yes, I can recite it from memory.  Much bigger in scope than is currently in vogue, and I miss that scope, this takes Skye from her birth to her HEA (for this book; eleven others follow, chronicling Skye’s family’s adventures) and set the bar or the larger than life heroines I prefer.

For those keeping track of that sort of thing, yes, this is a sexy book, but please don’t think that’s the whole point.  The character shine here, as people of their time, and if you don’t want to stand up and give Skye, Niall and company a fistpump at the end, well, I don’t know if we can be friends. (Okay, we probably can, but I would hold it against you. I am bribable with gummi bears, though, so you may still have a shot.)

Sword Dancer, by Jennifer Roberson

Oh good gravy, this book. I resisted reading it for ages (E, how long did I avoid this one?) because I’m not into a lot of fantasy, but, trust me, this really really is a romance.  Famed warrior Tiger can be matched by no man, but (fantasy readers, you know where I’m going here) that’s kind of moot because Del is no man. From the first time the two meet, in a desert cantina, the chemistry crackles between this Southron (sic) alpha male and Northron (sic) woman who is so very much his equal and opposite that following them through seven (so far) very thick books is not nearly enough. I also know the last line of this seies by heart. It was everything I …er, he dreamed when he slept at night, among the salset. :happy sigh:

My copies are in storage, but I have written about the series for Heroes and Heartbreakers, here.  Yes, there’s magic in this book, and it’s told in first person, from Tiger’s POV, but this gal found it very easy to slip inside his head. Tiger thinks he’s tough, and he is; he earns a living with his sword, fending off challengers, but the challenge he didn’t expect was to find a woman who can do what he does…and more. Del needs Tiger’s help to find and free her enslaved brother, This relationship has a lot going against it. They’re literally from two different worlds, and each gets a chance to see exactly what the other has had to overcome in their hometowns, not to mention some huge challenges destiny throws their way. I won’t give away their secrets here, but if you want a ride or die couple in your romantic fiction, Tiger and Del are it.  This really does read like a powerful historical romance set in a place we don’t know yet, so if you’re hesitant about fantasy, this is  good place to start. Ms. Roberson has also written some excellent historical romances, so, y’know, precedent has been set.

Eleanor and Park, by Rainbow Rowell

Not historical romance, this one, but, well, kind of, sort of, in its way. Set in the 1980s, we could call this a period piece, because the fabric of the time is essential to the romance and shapes it in a way that one would collapse without the other.  It’s standalone, too, which is one thing I sorely miss in today’s market (though I find more standalones in YA than historical romance; what’s with that?) and absolutely everything revolves around the love story.

Eleanor and Park, high school students, meet on a school bus. Eleanor is hard to overlook. She’s fat. She has big, curly, red hair. She dresses funny. Park doesn’t want the trouble, but when he sees how badly she’s getting picked on, he reluctantly lets her share his seat. Then he notices she’s reading his comic book over his shoulder. He holds the book open wider so she can see. Swoon, right? He gives her the book, and other books, makes her mix tapes, becomes the one pure and true and good thing in her life. Eleanor needs that, as her home life is a crazy free fall of chaos with her abusive stepfather and her gaggle of siblings who look to her more than their parents for stability. Park’s family has romance cred already, as his dad loved his mother enough to go back to Korea for her, and he knows what love looks, feels, and sounds like.  He knows he’s found it with Eleanor, and he’s willing to fight for her, literally and figuratively.

The course of teen love never does run smooth, even though both know this is the real thing, and both must make a heartrending choice when Eleanor’s home life escalates. I do count this as a happy ending, and I like to think I do know what those mysterious three words in the book’s ending are. I will fight those who disagree, because, yeah, that is the hill I want to die on when discussing this book. I’ve written about Park and my other favorite YA book boyfriends for Heroes and Heartbreakers here.

That’s all the time I have for today, so I shall leave you here and scarper off to Georgian England for a while. What books can get you squealing like an excited fangirl/boy? Can you tell anything these three books or their characters have in common? Know a good cold sore remedy? Drop a line in the comments and let me know.

Rambly Ramblings on Writing, Reading and Feeling Like a Unicorn

annabowling 2 Comments

“Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.”
― David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary

Not sure what I want to talk about today, so you’re going to get a freeform ramble, and I am going to trust that I am going to make some sort of sense by the time I’m done. This has been not exactly a domestic tornado day, but it has been a day with a full house, interrupted by Real Life Romance Hero and Housemate heading out a deux on a grocery run. Insert Rant of the Lonely Extrovert here, because even though grocery shopping with the whole household (minus Skye, who stays home because she is smart and also a kitty) can make me crabby at best and anxious at worst, it’s still out of the house and being around people. Alas, being sun-sensitive won out, because it is blindingly bright out there for those of us (aka me) who are pale and not suited to summer, so I am rambling from my favorite seat at the coffee house down the block from our own abode. It’s nice and dark here, within the exposed brick walls, I have an iced smoky chai in front of me, am functioning remarkably well for someone who has been Mentos-free for over a week and it’s time to take a look at the week ahead and what I am going to do with it, writing wise.

At the moment, I’m at the “staring at the twenty-foot high blank white wall” stage, which is not at all uncommon for a Monday, and I know that it does, indeed pass, so not going to stress about that. Note to self: writing about things that do not bother me all that much does not make for sinctillating interesting reading. If I am making myself yawn reading it, then it’s probably going to elicit the same response from readers. Which is not at all what a writer of commercial fiction wants, by any stretch of the imagination.

Had a train of thought there, but lost it. I hate when that happens. I am going to blame the upset to routine. My ideal method of attack is to make a list over breakfast, prioritize, then do all the things, crossing them off as I go. That did not happen today, and I am feeling the lack. I am also feeling vaguely unsettled that three passes through the main library’s romance section did not yield anything I had to take home with me right that second, but I was able to cull an armful of fresh voices and intriguing situations from the YA shelves in a matter of minutes. Under one, actually. I wasn’t counting. After devouring the realm of possibility and, earlier, How They Met, and Other Stories, both by David Levithan, which were a master course in romance (even if some of those romances don’t end well) and emotion, I had decided I’m going to have to devour everything he’s ever written and see what I can mine from it. If this guy can tell a love story entirely through dictionary entries, that definitely counts as innovation.

That innovation was what I found myself hungry for when I scoured the romance shelves. Historical romance is still my genre. It’s still what I love to read most, and what I love to write, and, at the moment, it has me somewhat itchy. Not sure what this is, but acknowledging this itchiness is important. Today, looking at the shelves, I saw, with the exception of older titles, almost exclusively series. I get the popularity there, I really do. There’s a built in following for many writers that way and many readers like the comfort of returning to a known community with familiar characters and such. I do follow some series, but not because they are series. There has to be something else. When I write, I naturally think in standalones, which can make me feel, at times, like a unicorn.

I see a lot of Regency settings. I’ve tried to write Regency. It did not end well, for anybody involved. My critique partner, Vicki, summed it up best. “You hate writing Regency.” She’s pretty smart that way. I do. Perfectly fine historical era, but where other writers get excited about Almack’s and, um, Empire waists, I get nothing. Dial things back a couple of decades to the Georgian era (yes, yes, I know, the Georgian era technically goes up to the coronation of Queen Victoria, but my blog, my rules) and we’re talking a whole different story. Wigs, high heels, embroidered satin, painted fans, makeup that would make Kat VonD jealous, and then there’s the women.

The historical fiction shelves (and boy howdy, do I love that our library system has a special sticker for book spines to designate historical fiction) get my interest from time to time, but my problem there, and I do love historical settings best of all -plop me down anywhere from the end of the Wars of the Roses to the end of the American Revolution and I am one happy camper- is that fictionalized biographies are a very hard sell for me. (Unless the topic is Anne Bonny, in which case, give, and back away slowly, mama’s reading) I’d rather read about original characters living in that world than the actual figures, though the actual figures can serve in supporting roles. I saw a few titles that looked mildly interesting, and I do know that some older historical romances of a few decades past have had second lives repackaged as historical fiction, as have some of the authors of such, but…

…that’s where things get unicorny. I want something new, within my favorite genre. Give me one hero and one heroine, in a fully realized historical world, make them people of their time, take me on an adventure and deliver on that big happy ending. Along the way? Carte blanche. (Yes, yes, I know, technically Regency term. Refer above; my blog, my rules.) The best way to make that happen, I know, is to write it myself, and I’m working on it, but there are days when I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to stab things with my sparkly horn for a while.

This may have been one of them, but that’s where the discipline of routine comes in. Monday’s post goes up on Monday. So, here it is. It’s okay if I ramble, because rambling will take me somewhere that stewing will not (and also, I hate cooked carrots, which stews often contain.) I don’t think I’m done yet, but I do have a date with my plotting board and some sticky notes, so wrapping things for now. See you Wednesday,

Typing With Wet Claws: Historical Versimilitude Edition

annabowling Leave a comment

Hello, all. Skye here, for another Feline Friday. Things are taking a definite swing toward fall this week. The sidewalk part of the construction is finished in front of our house, so it is not quite as noisy and the floor does not shake as much. Anty is very happy that there is actual sidewalk now, so she can wear heels when she leaves the house if she wants to, without risking ankle death. Construction is not completely done, as they still have a giant pit in front of the house next door, and we still have new trees to be put in where the old trees used to be. New trees means birdies will come back. I love watching birdies in the morning, so I am excited about that.

Anty does have a funny story about the day they poured the cement, and she said I can tell it, because it is really about me. Uncle was home until dinnertime that day, so Anty went to write at the coffee house. When left the house, she noticed that there were big mesh things laid out in a grid pattern on the gravel in front of our door. That told her they were probably going to pour the cement soon. She did not know how soon, because, when she got home a couple of hours later, there were men in big rubber boots almost to their knees, spreading the cement around. I should mention again that I am an indoor kitty, and Uncle had already left for work.

Anty was very concerned about being able to get in and take care of me. There was cement everywhere, and the workers were not happy about having to find a way for her to get across. One of them asked if she could please use the back door (I do not think he said please.) Anty said that she could, but she would have to go into the back yard (it is really tiny, because we live in a city) to get to the back door and the gate to the back yard is right next to the porch, so she would have to get across the wet cement sea anyway. The workers grumbled about having to put boards across it, but then she said the magic words. She had to get inside and feed the kitty (I am that kitty.)

Well. The workers put two boards up, side by side, and let her hold their hands so she could keep her balance as she walked across them. Anty thanked them and came inside. I got my meal (it was cat food, which is my favorite) and Anty got some more writing done. I love a story with a happy ending.

So does Anty, which is why she writes romance. She started reading romance when she was still a person kitten, only eleven. That first book was The Kadin, by Bertrice Small, and she knew right away that she had found what she wanted to read and write for the rest of her life. She says so far, so good. Anty may give the humans in her books a lot of problems, but, because it is romance, she fixes them by the end. Reading romance novels written by other humans is something that Anty loves  do, but has not had a lot of time for this summer, but now it is almost fall, so she is looking at reading more romances, especially historical ones.

Anty says recommendations are welcome...

Anty says recommendations are welcome…

Some humans like their historical romances to be what they call ‘wallpaper.’ This term confused me at first, because I thought it meant that they took the pages out of their books and covered their walls with them. I guess that is one way to go, but that is not what it means. A ‘wallpaper’ historical romance means that there is very little detail given about the period in which the book is set, only enough to give some flavor. Anty does not do that.

For Anty, the best books to read, and the ones she likes to write, are the ones where the historical world and the romance are intricately intertwined and one could not be the same without the other. This does not mean that she writes about humans who actually lived in those other times, but things those humans do did affect the people around them, including the ones who live in Anty’s head. She wants to know what it is like to slip inside the world in which her story people would have lived, and see the world the way they would have seen it.

Since Anty has not, to my knowledge, mastered time travel (but Uncle says it is okay if she gets in a blue police box if it comes) this means she has to find other ways to know these things. Some humans like reading books (that are not fiction) to learn more, and Anty does that to some extent, but what she likes to do the most is get hands on experience. Living history museums and historical reenactments are her favorites, as she can pick up on details that books may miss. She likes to know for herself what a shipyard smells like, for example, or how heavy a musket is in her hands. She once talked a blacksmith into letting her come right up to the forge, which most guests do not get to do, but Anty has special writer powers. Watching period dramas is also good, because watching people move around in the clothing of a different time tells her more than looking at a still picture, even though portraits from a particular era are the most reliable source of how clothes actually looked. She also is quick to point out that, while things like white wigs and high heels on men look funny to modern people, in the times they were worn, those things were hot stuff, so her book people would probably like them. Then again, it all depends on the characters.

Anty is now making throat clearing noises, which means that has to be about it for this week. Until next time, I remain very truly yours,

Skye O’Malley Hart-Bowling
(the kitty, not the book)

Until next week...

Until next week…

Video Blog: What I’m Reading and Other Blather

annabowling 4 Comments

Hi, all. Super busy week this week, which means I’m only getting to Monday’s post on Thursday. Could be worse. Still learning the new electronics, we’ve had a full house, and the city is redoing the sidewalks in front of our house as I write this. I found out that they were doing major things (HIMYM fans may salute with me here) which meant no leaving the house when I’d planned to hop down the block to the coffee house. Instead, I hopped into my office, and recorded this:

Still pretty basic with the video blogs, as I’m only learning the whole process, but it’s fun to blather on from time to time. We’ll see how that goes. What do you think of video blogs, dear readers? Love them? Hate them? Never watch them? Real Life Romance Hero is the one who convinced me to give it a go, so if I’m totally belly flopping here, blame him.

This week, I sold my first article to XOJane.com, which has me excited. Not romance related (though adult situations are referenced, ahem) but still an interesting experience, and one I hope to repeat. The submission package required a new author photo, with specific background requirements and bio (have I mentioned how much I hate bios?) I think the photo turned out okay. I vacillate between describing it as “thoughtful writer on a good hair day” and “Appalachian folk singer reminisces over her whiskey-soaked youth.” This whole picture thing takes practice. Videos, too.

Now that summer, my least favorite season, is winding down, and we are about to enter my beloved autumn, when the leaves put on a Technicolor show every day, the air smells amazing, everything is pumpkin flavored, and the days get cooler and darker, I’m looking forward to these changes. When my regular coffee house order slips from iced tea to hot, I’ll know we’ve turned the corner.

Her Last First Kiss continues to show me new things, some of which require the ripping out of previous things, but I think it’s going to be worth it. Sometimes, we think progress should be a straight line, like the monorail at an amusement park, where it’s more like a giant roller coaster with loop de loops and ups and downs and maybe a tunnel or water slide or two. Does this mean the book is going to be perfect? Nope, but it will be worth the journey.

It’s easy for a writer to get down on themselves after a laughably low royalty check or bad review, or realizing exactly how long it’s been since the last (or first) release, but dwelling on those things doesn’t help. Acknowledge the fact, do something different and move forward. Yes, you will fall on your face. Probably more than once. The thing is to get back up and keep going. Even if that means banging out some babble for a blog post when you don’t have the slightest idea what to write.

Hey, showing readers random stuff near my desk is still content, and it’s more than I would have had if I never opened the file. One step at a time, liebchens, that’s what it’s all about.

Random Thoughts From a Tired Mind (with pictures of ducks)

annabowling 2 Comments

Hopping on the Thursday Thirteen bandwagon today, because a dose of normal in the current sea of chaos is welcome today, and having a bit of structure helps immensely. So.

  1. Random duck pictures will be a lot easier now that I have a camera cord again, though the ones in this post are from a few weeks back.
  2. I am happy to be a caregiver, and at the same time, really want a nap. Also some reliable way of remembering what day it is. Internet and calendars, yes, those are helpful.
  3. If the library could get our family another copy of Game of Thrones, season one, with season two following close behind, that would be great. I am in withdrawal.
  4. Reading historical romance, my favorite genre, is really hard right now, and I am not at all certain why. I am fairly sure this will pass, but I want to read romance, though it’s hard to get into and that bugs me like heat rash.
  5. Realistic YA reading (and listening) binge continues. I have not developed a desire to write in this genre, but reading it works quite well. I could gorge on the raw emotion I’m finding there and want to carry it over to romance.
  6. I wonder if I left my favorite historical romance books and my favorite realistic YA books in a candlelit room with Barry White music playing, if they would kindly breed.
  7. I suspect their method of reproduction may be through my brain and fingers.
  8. Technology is not my friend, and I suspect may actually be writing nasty things about me on the walls of whatever it is computers use as bathrooms. I do not want to know what computers use as bathrooms.
  9. Notebooks are love. It is not possible to have too many notebooks. Starting a separate notebook blog crosses my mind more frequently than I would like to admit.
  10. When I am not writing romance, I miss it like a homesick orphan. :dims lights, cues spotlight, sings even more mournful version of “Memory” from Cats.:
  11. Computer issues will be solved, at some point, one way or another, and finding workarounds in the meantime is a good way to stretch creativity, but I am looking forward to finding the solution even more.
  12. I am impatient for the Paper Towns movie, and to see the two episodes of Poldark waiting on my DVR. I also would like to mush them together and see if they breed, but then remind myself to see #7 above.
  13. One earbud from the set that came with my tablet has just given up the ghost. See #8 above. This requires more ducks:
i1035 FW1.1

duck, duck…

random waterfowl

…goose